


houseguest

by brandywine421



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2017-12-20 20:15:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/891401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brandywine421/pseuds/brandywine421
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My apartment flooded while I was in Madrid," Natasha says.  Her dufflebag thumps when she drops it heavily beside a pile of sneakers and boots by the door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I like the idea of Steve being a normal guy underneath the armor. And the idea that Natasha and Steve are platonic BFFs.

She blinks when Steve opens the door in a pair of navy boxer briefs and a pink toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. His eyes go wide and he doesn't bother inviting her in, simply stepping aside.

"My apartment flooded while I was in Madrid," Natasha says. Her dufflebag thumps when she drops it heavily beside a pile of sneakers and boots by the door. Messy.

Steve takes the toothbrush in one hand and mumbles, "Don't touch the TV, I'll be back."

She watches him walk away because she's not actually made of stone, and examines the apartment in full.

He's settled in. The pale walls are decorated with framed prints arranged by century and she's endeared by his varied choices. It takes her a moment too long to realize that they aren't prints, but Steve's own interpretations. He's talented for a man with such large hands.

The furniture is nondescript but looks comfortable. Keys, spare change and sunglasses take up the end table, rumpled jackets and shirts are strewn across the recliner and an open pizza box rests on top of four crushed pizza boxes on the coffeetable.

Steve doesn't just sleep here, he _lives_ here.

"Okay. I have on pants," Steve says, wiping his hands on his loose sweatpants. He didn't bother to put on a shirt and she wonders when he lost that layer of shyness around females. "It's good to see you, Romanov. I wasn't expecting company but the spare room's clean enough for a guest."

"I should have called first," she says.

"You're always welcome," Steve says. "But hopefully you aren't collecting blackmail intel."

She raises an eyebrow. "Something you have to hide, Captain?"

"Tony will joke me no matter how innocuous something is," Steve shrugs. He motions to the doors. "Guest room, bathroom and my room. Pizza's coming in twenty minutes if you're hungry. I have plans with my TV, just make yourself at home."

Natasha doesn't question him, yet, and steps into the guest room. It's blander than the living room with generic department store decorations and a corner stacked high with cardboard boxes. She's slept in worse places and it's homey in a half-hearted kind of way like all guest rooms.

She changes into her favorite jeans and investigates the bathroom.

The red, white and blue shower decorations have Tony's mark all over them. The counter's littered with more hair products than she expected and the entire ledge of the bathtub is lined with shampoos and conditioners. Oh yeah, this is blackmail material.

Satisfied with her initial reconnaisance, she joins Steve on the couch. She has to clear off a spot to sit and he doesn't pay her any attention, fully focused on the TV.

"Are you watching soap operas?" Natasha gasps when she processes the screen.

"Shh. I want to finish this year today, it's Thanksgiving and she just found out her son was switched at birth," Steve says.

So. Much. Blackmail.

"Stop judging me or I won't let you have any pizza," Steve says.

"Is this how you spend your down time?" she asks and sinks back into the soft cushions.

"Guiding Light was on the radio when I grew up," Steve answers. "Tony's computer got me the episodes. Reminds me that my life's not really as dramatic compared to Springfield."

"You are a silly man," she says flatly.

He shrugs. "That's an opinion, not a lie, I suppose. And it's not all I do, I'm going free running with Johnny later."

She blinks at him. "Johnny Storm?"

Steve's face lit up at the knock on the door. "There's the pizza you won't be having."

* * *

Natasha has never thought much about what Steve did when they weren't on missions. Her calendar stays full on SHIELD's mission rotation, but whatever ideas she would have come up with would have been way off.

He definitely doesn't sit at home wallowing in the past.

Johnny Storm blows into the apartment worthy of his name, announcing himself with a yell and shoving Steve playfully off the edge of the couch.

"Screw you, Johnny. Don't knock over the pizza," Steve replies easily. She narrows her eyes at the kid.

He tips a finger to his ball cap and sits down on top of the mound of laundry in the recliner. "Didn't know you had company, Cap."

"Natasha's staying here for a few days and you're early, I have twenty minutes left," Steve says.

"He takes his TV pretty seriously," Natasha says, sizing the man up.

She knows enough about the Fantastic Four to suspect Storm's intentions regardless of his allegiance to the good side of the law. The kid would fuck anything that smiled at him.

"I know, we schedule around it," Johnny replies with a lazy wink.

"No flirting in my zone," Steve says absently and Johnny laughs.

"Cap tells me when to be quiet and I teach him when to be loud," Johnny confides in a stage whisper.

"He's an awful student," Steve mutters.

"What's with the free running?" she asks.

"Cap says I can't always depend on flying. My guys aren't into training and Cap's good at keeping things on the downlow," Johnny says.

"Haven't had to bail him out of jail in three weeks," Steve adds.

Natasha doesn't have much experience with friendship but she remembers that Steve and Johnny were both normal guys before their superpowers. She was created to be an assassin, she never had the chance to be a 'normal' anything.

"If you've got some good sneakers, you should come with us. Constructive criticism is welcome when it's not from random bystanders," Johnny says.

"I have to depend less on my strength and more on my speed and momentum when I'm on the run," Steve says when the credits start to roll and he flips off the TV.

"And I have to work on my tuck and rolls and the whole 'no flying' schtick," Johnny says.

"I can't follow you when you fly," Steve frowns.

"I'm curious enough to take a run with the two of you," Natasha decides.

Steve stretches and tugs a shirt from under Johnny's leg on the recliner. "We'll go slow for you and make sure you can keep up with us."

She raises an eyebrow and accepts the challenge.

* * *

She realizes quickly that it's less training and more play. The boys are reckless, taking too many risks and laughing when they fall down or faceplant into the wall of a building.

God help her, it's fun.

Steve catches her hand a couple of times and Johnny swoops her out of the pavement's path when she stumbled off a ledge too soon.

There are bystanders on their path despite their varied trajectories. A few lob water balloons and cheer when they avoid them and one little girl rolls hula hoops into their path.

Steve finally topples to a stop on the edge of on office building, steadying himself on an exhaust vent. "Tag out."

She offers him a hand and they both stagger as they catch their breath. Johnny appears with skinned elbows and gaping bloody holes in his knees that sadly match Steve's.

"Okay, so you have to teach me how not to bust my ass on that gravel shit," Johnny says, clapping her on the back.

"Nice run today," Steve nodded. "I'm starving."

"You just ate," Natasha says.

"Thirsty, then," Johnny says, high-fiving Steve and leaping off the edge of the building.

"He's a show off, but it's a good workout. Drinks?"

It's not a bad way to spend her down time. "You're buying."

"Storm's buying," he winks.

* * *

"Just hear me out," Johnny says, sprawling across the back of the booth. "Cap gets nervous at the mention of chicks and this is the best place to desensitize him."

Natasha doesn't think the task merits frequent visits to strip clubs but at least this club is more upscale than most of her missions.

"You go along with this?" she asks Steve.

He slides into the booth and meets her eyes. "Dugan's grandaughter owns the place."

"And?" Johnny beams.

Steve rolls his eyes. "And now I can process female nudity with a straight face."

"So. Much. Blackmail." She sits down and motions to one of the waitresses.

"You're underdressed, Double Trouble," the lady says in greeting.

"We're just here for snacks and hydration," Johnny says.

"It's Wednesday, we're ready for you," she said, turning to Natasha. "What can I get you? Gatorade, water or something more alcoholic?"

She orders and the woman slips into the back and a slow trickle of topless dancers makes their way to the table.

The first lady is bleach blonde with impressive implants and she plants her hands on her hips and winks at Natasha before facing down the men.

"Astrid, how goes the PhD?" Johnny asks. Natasha is speechless.

The girl grins and turns to Steve. "Good afternoon, Astrid. You look magnificent today."

"He's got a lot to learn but at least he lost that stutter," Astrid says, patting him on the arm. "Missed you boys at Zumba last week."

"Don't even mention Zumba, I still don't have any rhythm," Steve sighs.

Astrid leaves and a curvy black lady takes her place.

"Hello, Marianna, did you get the new apartment?" Johnny asks, kissing her hand politely.

"Yes, I did, Johnny, thanks for asking," she nods.

"You styled your hair differently, you have gorgeous cheekbones," Steve says.

Marianna turns to her. "New recruit?"

"A friend. How long have they been practicing?" she asks.

"Storm used to come in and make it rain a lot, actually got some tact from Home-Grown over there. We still can't figure out if he was Amish or just sheltered," Marianna confides before giving the next girl her turn.

"He only lets me make it rain on weekends now," Johnny sighs.

* * *

She learns a lot about Steve Rogers over the next few days.

He hates doing his hair and he doesn't shave unless he has somewhere to be. He doesn't like to wear shirts and everything stops for Guiding Light even though he knows how to work the DVR.

He chews with his mouth open. Smacks his lips and crumbs fall from his mouth when he laughs.

He's always up for anything, whether it be Frito poker with assorted X-Men or rock-climbing with college kids from his art classes.

If he wasn't an American Icon, he would be passable as a well-adjusted 27 year old. His friendship with Johnny Storm gives him freedom to explore without annoying questions because the two claim distant family relations instead of superhero camraderie.

She doesn't have much experience being anything other than a spy, a government funded assassin. Staying with Steve was like living with a stereotypical Frat Boy. Or a hipster.

It's foreign territory, but it's his home. She isn't afraid or constantly on edge when the man she follows into firestorms plays Dance Dance Revolution with the Chinese delivery guy. Steve doesn't suspect everyone he meets, not to say he trusts them, but he believes the best of everyone until he's proven wrong.

She envies his ability to trust but she doesn't envy its dangers. He's careful with who he trusts fully, if anyone - but everyone gets the benefit of the doubt.

"I have a friend coming over tonight," Steve says. He's fidgety.

"Captain, do you have a date?" She lives with him, she has permission to tease and it's amusing that she can still make him blush when she watches him face down topless dancers twice a week.

"I have a casual acquaintance coming by to share my sleeping quarters," Steve replies, crossing his arms and pursing his lips in a feigned pout.

She raises an eyebrow and he holds her gaze, defiant. "Am I cramping your style?"

"I don't mind having you here, Natasha. It's been, kind of, nice. But I haven't tiptoed around you so far, and I'd like to keep it that way."

She doesn't lower her eyebrow. He wants to know if he can trust her and she isn't sure the proper way to react. "Is it someone I know?"

That seems to be the wrong answer because all humor leaves his eyes and he clenches his jaw.

"This is your home and what happens inside these walls will never pass my lips. Unless I have to kill her," Natasha promises.

"Please don't kill anyone. I'll never get my deposit back," Steve replies.

She offers him a fist bump and something warm settles in her stomach.

Maybe there is something to this friendship thing.

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: IDEK.

  
She doesn't recognize the leggy brunette trying to suck Steve's tongue out of his face when she returns from a useless SHIELD briefing about quiet fronts in the West.  
  
The woman's dressed in worn leather pants and a tank top barely holding in her breasts with faded bloodstains on the edges.  She's scissoring him against the refrigerator and Steve's hands are on her ass.  
  
"We eat here," she says, enjoying Steve's jolt of surprise.  
  
The woman leans back and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, smiling darkly.  "Oh, Stevie, did you bring me a present?"  
  
"Roommate, remember?  No hitting on my friends."  
  
The woman rolls her eyes and smoothes down Steve's shirt, fond.  "You and your rules.  But I gotcha.  Faith Lehane," she nods to Natasha.  
  
"Natasha Romanov."  Her mind flips through her memory.  "You're a slayer."  
  
"Oh come on, Nat," Steve groans as Faith pushes off him with remarkable speed and braces herself in front of Natasha holding an ornate knife in her hand.  
  
"A slayer saved my life in Laredo last year.  I'm not a fan of Hellmouths," she says evenly.  "I told you that I won't talk about your conquests," she adds to Steve.  
  
"She works with me," Steve tells Faith who hesitates but doesn't lower her knife.  
  
"Harris can vouch for me," Natasha adds, remembering the one-eyed watcher who made Coulson's forehead vein twitch.  
  
She lowers her knife.  "You can't just say that and not expect me to react."  
  
"Managed to get all the bodily fluids away from the counters, so I consider it a win," she replies.  
  
"Better stay away from the couch, then," Faith says, moving back to Steve's side and pulling him down for a sloppy kiss by his collar.  "I'm going to shower and then we can head out."  
  
"You're showering before patrol?" Steve asks.  
  
She shrugs.  "I'm showering after sex, but you can think about it that way, too.  Make sure you're prepared this time."  Faith turns to Natasha and skims her from head to stilletto.  "You're welcome to tag along until we get to the post-show celebration."  
  
She watches the woman disappear into the hallway before she turns to Steve.  "Patrol?"  
  
"Vampire hunting isn't really a hobby, but she lets me come along sometimes.  We finish faster with the two of us and then we have more time to hang out," Steve says.  
  
"Is that what they called it in the 40's?" she smirks.  He gives her the finger.  
  
"You can come with if you want.  I think of it as training with a much better debriefing session afterwards," Steve smiles.  
  
She rolls her eyes.  "I'll let you take this one on your own.  I'm going to catch up on Wheel of Fortune while you're out."  
  
She blames Steve for introducing her to gameshows.  Mindless fluff TV isn't so bad considering the life they live.  The American public's intelligence level concerns her sometimes but she likes it when they win cars over vacations.  
  
She considers telling him to 'be careful' or warning him off the fierce Slayer, but she settles for a simple nudge in the arm.  "Have fun."  
  
He beams and she rolls her eyes again.  
  
He's such a _boy_ sometimes.  


* * *

  
She raises an eyebrow when Faith sags onto the couch beside her.  Her eyebrow gets a lot of exercise staying here.  
  
"God, Steve snores like a Halfor demon," Faith says, reaching for her popcorn.  Natasha edges it away.  "Oh, get off it, I washed my hands.  Never took the Black Widow for a germophobe."  
  
"I'm not, but this is the last bag," Natasha lies.  
  
"He left me pizza money on the dresser," Faith says, holding up a crumbled twenty.  "I told him that I'm worth much more than a pizza but he's still a little slow on the pickup."  
  
"How'd you meet him?"  
  
Faith shrugs.  "Johnny had a fling with my frenemy.  When Steve showed up all of a sudden, she thought he was some kind of doppleganger demon so I got tagged in to investigate.  He's a good guy.  Lot of issues, but fun.  He's not as judgy as I thought when we finally figured out he was Captain America."  
  
"Should I be asking about your intentions with my roommate?" Natasha asks after a long moment.  
  
"I don't do boyfriends, or friends of any kind, not usually.  We don't have any promises between us.  Boyfriends, girlfriends - they're the biggest downfalls of most people with our kind of jobs.  Casual acquaintances that occasionally share sleeping quarters is much safer," Faith winks.  
  
"Jalapenos and pineapple." Natasha suggests, accepting the woman's olive branch and half-assed answers.  
  
"Throw some pepperoni on there and we're golden."  


* * *

  
"Laundry day!" Steve chirps loudly from the kitchen.  Natasha has claimed the end cushion on the couch and the recliner is barely visible underneath the mountain of clothes.  
  
She sees a couple of her shirts peeking from the laundry landfill.  She's never been messy but she admits that it's easier to come back after a fight or a run and get out of sweaty clothes immediately.  
  
"You're excited about that?" Natasha asks, eyeing the size of the pile.  
  
Steve walks in and tosses a mesh bag at her and she snatches it automatically before it covers her face.  "Yes.  Lin, the delivery guy, his grandparents own a laundromat and it's reserved for us today.  It's, sort of, become a thing.  I have to call Tony and make sure he comes in plainclothes this time.  We try to keep it low-key."  
  
She isn't sure a block party is low-key, but that's exactly what she walks into a couple of hours later.  They enter through the back door of the laundromat and a tiny hunched Asian woman fusses over Steve before he even says hello.  
  
Her Chinese is rusty but she smiles when she realizes the woman is chattering about his abs and biceps and groping him while pretending to scold him about his clothing.  She's impressed.  
  
"She gets tons of publicity from Steve's visits," Lin says from on top of one of the dryers.  He always wins at DDR and so far, Natasha has let him live only because of Steve's affection for him.  "So does everyone else."  
  
She looks out the window and sees that the street has been closed off by shifty looking cops and a group of men dressed in full mariachi gear are setting up folding tables and chairs on the sidewalks.  
  
"Does everyone know who he is?" Natasha asks.  
  
"We don't talk about that," Lin whispers.  "He's a good guy outside of his mascot suit."  
  
Natasha considers it.  
  
"Superheroes work for the greater good but there aren't a lot that actually interact with the public like Steve does around here.  I mean, he's one of us, too."  Lin shrugs.  
  
A flash of fire catches her attention and she watches Johnny 'flame off' in the center of the street.  A group of small children immediately rushed toward him with sticks.  
  
"Why..." she starts but Iron Man whizzes to the pavement beside him with two industrial size bags of marshmallows.  
  
"Come on, Nat, let's put a few loads in and head out before they get mobbed by the kids," Steve says, catching her attention with a clap on the back.  
  
"Why is laundry worth a celebration like this?" she asks.  It's a lot of exposure to risk this much attention.  
  
"I don't know.  I like knowing my neighbors and Lin's family is nice, they don't make fun of me for asking stupid questions about fabric softener," Steve says.  He snorts.  "Or maybe I should say they don't make fun of me in English."  


* * *

  
"How'd he rope you into this block party?" Natasha asks, relaxed on her lawnchair beside Tony.  Steve and Johnny are utterly failing to skip rope with the neighborhood kids across the street.  
  
"Cap's a man on a mission.  A happy rainbow funtime kind of mission," Tony winks.  
  
"That's not an answer."  
  
"Somebody needs to look after him," Tony says quietly.  "I had some shit going on so I wasn't paying as much attention as I intended and I overreacted when I heard about laundry day.  My penance is to pay for his laundry forever.  Of course he won't let me hire a service or buy him a washer - he's an awful awful person."  
  
"He seems to be looking after himself okay," she says.  She's slightly insulted for Steve.  
  
"I get that now.  This is all new to me," Tony sighs.  "I've never had a friend like Steve before.  This isn't a neighborhood I would never need to visit and he's such a kid.  He's built like every jock that kicked my ass and he's sugary nice and who's nice anymore?  I can't figure him out.  I mean, a laundromat, Natalie, a _laundromat_."  
  
Tony turns his attention to her with his Cheshire leer.  "Now, why don't you fill me in on your little extended slumber party with our fine Captain?"  
  
"My apartment's being renovated and he has a spare room," Natasha replies, not letting him get under her skin.  
  
"Just don't scare off any of his dates, some of them are almost as scary as you," Tony shrugs.  
  
"We have an understanding," Natasha replies.  "What happens in the apartment, stays in the apartment."  
  
She blinks when she recognizes the man's swagger from around the corner.  
  
Tony laughs loudly and claps her on the back.  "Funtime's over, Fury's on the warpath."  
  
Natasha steels herself for reprimand but Fury takes off his coat and passes it to Lin's grandmother and he's wearing basketball shorts and a tank top.  
  
"I almost had a heart attack the first time he showed up, too," Tony grins.  "Cap should have never asked him to teach him about basketball."  
  
"Oh no," Natasha gasps.  "He didn't beat him, did he?"  
  
"Oh yeah, Cap creamed him after three lessons and it's been war ever since," Tony explains.  "Come on, let's go help them get the basket set up."  


* * *

  
"So what do you do when you're not slumming with me?" Steve asks later, when she's stuffed with hot dogs and slightly seared from the sun.  
  
"Classified things," she replies.  
  
"Come on," he sighs.  "You know I'm not asking about work.  How do you spend your down time when you're not hanging out with me?"  
  
She isn't sure how to answer.  "I read.  I like quiet.  I train.  Practice."  
  
"Okay," Steve replies easily, not pushing her.  
  
"I don't have friends."  
  
Steve raises an eyebrow at her.  God, she's been living here too long.  
  
"I never saw a need for them.  I always worked alone.  But things change," Natasha says.  
  
"They do.  Barton's back in town tomorrow, he doesn't believe you've been here this long, he bet me twenty bucks you'd be at a hotel by now," Steve smiles.  
  
"I hope you took him up on that," she replies.  She kicks at him with her clean sock.  "You're not such a bad host."  
  
"Okay, good.  Johnny says you're one of the 'bros' now so you have permission to punch him if he looks down your shirt."  
  
"I never need permission for that," she counters.  



	3. Chapter 3

  
"There are so many things wrong with this picture," Barton announces when he walks into the room.  
  
Steve is chomping, loudly, on a taco and has sauce down his bare chest.  Natasha isn't that messy but she does have both feet elevated on Steve's thigh while she paints her toenails.  
  
"You're supposed to knock, you know, I have security now," Steve says, nodding at her.  
  
"Well, I always check in with Nat after a job so she should have expected me," Clint replies.  
  
"You're supposed to check in at HQ before me," Natasha says.  She knows Barton came here first to get the scoop.  He hates being left out of things.  
  
Clint shrugs and sprawls across the cleared recliner.  
  
"Clean run?" Steve asks.  
  
"Yeah, it was cake," Clint answers.  "Any tacos left?"  
  
Steve licks his fingers.  "Sorry.  There should be leftovers in the fridge."  
  
Clint glances between them.  "Is this what you've been doing while I was out risking my life?"  
  
Natasha wiggles her toes.  "I think this is the first vacation I've ever had."  
  
"She earns her keep," Steve smiles.  His phone buzzed from the other room and he carefully moves her legs so he can get off the couch.  Clint slides into his place with a wicked grin.  
  
"So, Nat, what's really going on?  Are you seducing Captain America?"  
  
Natasha raises an eyebrow but Clint's grin only widens.  
  
"Come on, there's got to be something behind you staying here this long," he insists.  
  
"My apartment's being renovated.  I like it here.  It's...comfortable," she says.  She holds his eyes.  
  
"Yeah, if you're a dude," Clint replies.  "He's a slob and you're...you.  A smoking hot, classy chick, and he's, well, he's _Steve_."  
  
She relaxes slightly.  It sounds like Clint knows Steve well enough.  "I don't know.  This isn't just a place to stay, this is a home, and he's letting me be a part of it.  Even if he's stuck at the emotional age of sixteen - he's a good friend."  
  
Clint nods, patting her knee.  "As long as it's not going to get weird.  I don't want either one of you to get your heart broken."  
  
"Since when do you worry about my heart, Barton?" Natasha snorts.  They'd walked through fire for each other but they never had the chemistry to shift the love part from partner to mate.  
  
"Since you moved in with Captain America," he winks.  
  
"I got invited to a club tonight, if either of you are up for it," Steve says, walking back in with his phone.  
  
"I'm in, as long as you don't invite your twin, I never get chicks with Storm playing wingman," Clint mutters.  
  
"He's got a date," Steve shrugs.  He points a finger at him, scoldingly.  "You have to be nice.  I know you think cock-blocking is funny, but it's not funny tonight."  
  
Clint laughs, holding up both hands.  "Touchy!  I'm always nice, man, I won't slow your roll."  
  
"Don't talk like that, Barton," she winces.  
  
"I'm serious.  I don't want you giving him the third degree or taking fingerprints," Steve says.  He is serious.  
  
"Pinky swear," Clint says, holding out his finger.  
  
"I'll make him behave," she says.  Steve follows through on the pinky swear.  She narrows her eyes at Clint.  "He always cockblocks me, too."  
  
"But you don't have a cock, so it's chivalrous when I do it to you," Clint replies.  
  
"Don't make me uninvite you," Steve frowns.  
  
"I don't think I like this new friendship, it's no fun when you're teaming up on me," Clint pouts, crossing his arms.  
  
"Some of the girls from the club will be there."  
  
Clint perks up.  "You think Astrid will show?"  
  
"She's too smart for you," Natasha says.  
  
"You introduced her to the strippers?" Clint gasps, feigning horror.  
  
"Dancers," Steve and Natasha say together.  
  
"I hate you guys."  


* * *

  
"Steve has a type," she tells Clint when they're settled in one of the VIP booths overlooking the dancefloor.  
  
"You mean dangerous, sexy people on the gray side of the law?  Yep," Clint replies, his eyes ticking off the exits and cameras automatically between swallows of beer.  
  
She turns her attention back to Steve and Oliver Queen eyefucking at the downstairs bar.  
  
"He's Captain America, the epitome of the perfect man.  Polite, respectful, noble, great body.  He's on every woman and man's freebie list.  Straight guys don't even turn him down."  
  
She nods, that makes sense.  "It's weirdly comforting that he's taking advantage of it, don't you think?"  
  
Clint shrugs.  "Storm says it's good for him to accept the new millenium, so you can probably throw some of the blame his way."  
  
"I don't judge him for it," Natasha replies.  "He's friends with his dates, before and after.  I've never been able to manage that."  
  
"Do you even date outside of assignments?" Clint asks.  
  
"Never really thought about it," she replies.  "I always have an assignment, not used to having free time.  Steve doesn't waste his free time, he stays busy outside of work."  
  
Natasha's phone buzzes and she skims the text.  _Fight club_?  She glances downstairs and sees Steve waving for them.  
  
"I think we're invited to meet Queen officially.  If we don't talk about it," Natasha says.  
  
"I really _really_ want to see his gear," Clint says.  
  
"That's what she said," Natasha elbows him.  


* * *

  
"No weapons, no nut-shots and no hits to the face.  Some of us have real jobs," Oliver says.  
  
She's impressed by his 'lair' and his arrogance at hiding it directly under his profitable and public club.  
  
Faith is there with a blonde she recognizes from the supernatural files of SHIELD.  Buffy Summers may be a bimbo at first glance, but she's got balls of steel.  Natasha wants to see what kind of moves she has on the mat.  
  
Diggle has an honorable military history on his record and she isn't sure how he got mixed up with a vigilante, but she's not on the clock and she's not asking questions.  Steve's talking with him easily.  
  
"Steve has the most intriguing friends," Oliver says, wrapping his hands with tape as he moves beside her.  
  
"I could say the same."  
  
"Are you going to turn me in?" he asks.  
  
She considers his open question.  "I'm not here officially.  The Arrow's not on my radar."  
  
He hums under his breath.  
  
"You and I probably have more in common than the others.  We kill people, not just monsters," Natasha says under her breath.  
  
"We have different motivations," Oliver says.  "I'm not a good person, but one day I'll be able to try again."  
  
Diggle and Steve laugh loudly across the room.  "He's the tether to the humanity I lost.  He keeps me in check," Oliver adds.  
  
She gets that.  "Shirts vs. Skins," she says.  
  
Oliver grins and claps his hands before he pulls his shirt over his head.  
  
"Great idea," Buffy applauds.  
  
Diggle raises his hand.  "Can we please add the clause that superhumans pull their punches with the normal humans over here?  She broke my rib last time."  
  
"Baby," Clint snorts.  
  
"I call you," Buffy points at Clint.  "Shirt off."  
  
She catches Steve's gaze and he gives her a wicked smirk and shakes his head.  She wonders if she'll be icing Clint's ribs tonight.  
  
"Pretty sure Faith's taking your roommate home tonight," Oliver says quietly.  "If you wanted to see what else we have in common."  
  
She raises an eyebrow at him.  "That would be disrespectful."  
  
"He's the one ditching me for another date," Oliver replies.  
  
She isn't a robot, and his abs are magnificent.  It might be fun to fuck the smirk out of his eyes.  
  
"Let's see how you fight first."  


* * *

  
"There is so much hot in this room, I don't know how no one's exploded yet," Buffy says, yanking on Faith's arm to fix her dislocated shoulder.  Faith doesn't make a sound.  Natasha doesn't have female friends but the Slayers seem okay.  
  
Steve is conferring with Clint and Oliver across the room and she thinks she recognizes 'rock-paper-scissors' negotiation.  
  
"Steve's much buffer than Storm," Buffy adds.  
  
"I'm going to tell him you said that.  He probably will explode," Natasha says.  
  
Faith barks out a laugh.  The boys fist bump each other and join them by the first aid kits.  
  
"Fight club rules apply until dawn, don't talk about it," Steve says.  
  
"IHOP at nine to coordinate alibis," Oliver adds.  
  
He was a good fighter and he'd earned a shot at getting her off.  She's comfortable with her decision.  
  
"Change my sheets in the morning or you're dead, Barton," Steve says, reaching over and taking Faith by the waist before slinging her over his shoulder and heading for the stairs.  
  
"Brave dude," Clint says, wincing at Faith's curses echoing down the stairwell.  He turns to Oliver and glances at Natasha.  "So are you, by the way.  Good luck."  Buffy rolls her eyes and drags him up the stairs.  
  
"My luck's already pretty good tonight," Oliver says, his hand hot on her lower back as she let him turn her into a soft kiss.  
  
She slides her leg between his thighs and kisses him, hard.  "Did Steve have to give you a pep talk?"  
  
"Just the prerequesite ' _if you hurt her, I'll kill you_ ' talk.  Made sure we all had condoms.  Boy scout," he answers around her tongue.  
  
"I'll be sure and thank him tomorrow when you're buying me waffles."  
  
"No waffles at IHOP," Oliver smiles against her lips.  


* * *

  
"You are such a bad influence, _Jesus_ ," Clint groans as he sinks onto the couch between them.  
  
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Steve says, curling his arms around his bag of Cheetos.  
  
"Don't pull that shit, man, Natasha, back me up."  
  
"Last night did slightly feel like we were undercover as swingers," Natasha replies.  
  
"It wasn't supposed to be like that.  I intended on having a homosexual encounter.  For _science_ ," Steve says, defensive.  
  
"For science," Natasha repeats.  
  
"Oliver was down for it, but Faith showed up and we scrapped the experiment in favor of breasts," Steve says, avoiding her gaze and stuffing Cheetos into his mouth.  
  
"Breasts are nice," Clint says thoughtfully.  
  
"So are abs," Natasha says.  
  
"See?  Bad influence," Clint points at Steve.  
  
Steve sighs.  "Do you want some Cheetos?"  
  
"Yes."  


* * *

  



	4. Chapter 4

She knows she's become too settled at Steve's when she can't hide her surprise at the two women sitting at the counter wearing Steve's laundry.  
  
Steve freezes at the stove with a pancake balanced unsteadily on the spatula.  "Um."  
  
"Casual acquaintances sharing sleeping quarters?" she asks, narrowing her eyes at him.  
  
"It's not mixing work and play if we're just playing," Steve replies, frowning at her with slightly pleading eyes.   
  
Maria Hill turns and glares at Melinda May from her stool.  "You know, I've heard that advice somewhere before."  
  
Melinda takes a sip of coffee ambivalently before nodding at Natasha.  "Romanoff."  
  
"Agent May.  Agent Hill," Natasha greets before turning her attention to Steve and the hovering pancake.  "Another science experiment?"  
  
Steve finally returns the pancake to the sizzling pan and sighs.  "Bruce says it doesn't count for science if it's two ladies."  
  
Natasha blinks.  _Bruce?_  
  
"Are you new to the lesson plan?" Maria asks, smiling fondly at Steve.  Melinda smiles fondly at Steve, too, but her gaze drifts lower and turns more hungry than fond.  
  
She snorts.  "I have seen him sneeze in his hands and wipe them on his pants."  
  
"Hey, no cockblock," Steve says, shaking the spatula at her.  
  
"He snores louder than you do," Melinda tells Maria.  
  
"I don't snore," Steve protests.  "I'm the _perfect_ male specimen."  He motions to himself with the spatula.  There is a spatter of toothpaste spit crusted between his bare pecs and two different colors of lipstick smeared on his thighs.  She knows he's worn those boxers at least twice this week.  
  
"You can't all use your eyebrow on me at the same time, that's not cool," Steve pouts.  "None of you are having pancakes, now."  
  


* * *

  
"How did Bruce become your relationship coach?" Natasha asks when the agents have finally returned her (Steve's but temporarily Natasha's, too) space.    
  
Steve's sprawled lazily across the couch with his feet on a pillow in her lap as she paints his toenails.  Red, white and blue in revenge for the incidental ambush with her coworkers.  
  
"After the Chitauri, I spent more time with him than anyone else.  You and Barton were away on missions all the time and Tony was in California.  Not that I would ever ask Tony to explain anything to me.  _Ever_.  Things are so different now," he sobers.  "I really was a virgin when I came out of the ice.  I wasn't married and I would never expect a woman to sleep with me without a ring, it wasn't done by proper gentlemen and ladies and my Ma would never forgive me."  
  
He waves a hand.  "It's different now.  I can sleep with a woman, or a man, and still be respectable in the morning.  Bruce explained it to me."  
  
She hums thoughtfully.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I just wonder what Banner would have told you to turn you into Johnny," Natasha says.  
  
Steve snorts.  "I'm not like Johnny, he hits on everyone.  Bruce helped me understand about women's rights, and bisexuality.  And fetishes.  And safewords."  
  
"Okay, stop," Natasha holds up the nail brush.  "You're going to make me smear this all over your toes."  
  
Steve blinks at her.  "That's what she said."  She thumps his ankle.  
  
"I'm trying to have a normal life since I've never really had one.  And I don't actually know many people that have normal lives and nothing here is ever going to be normal for me," Steve says.  "Sometimes people ask me out and I started saying yes."  
  
"So who got you first?" Natasha asks, genuinely curious.  
  
"I don't kiss and tell."  
  
"You let your dates stay for breakfast," she replies.  
  
"They're my friends, too.  I don't think I'm ready to try dating or anything permanent, I mean, my job's not stable and there are too many secrets they'd have to keep.  My lovers have enough secrets of their own."  He sighs.  "Faith left for Kansas a couple of days ago and I think I'm going to miss her.  So I needed a distraction.  Maria and May are great distractions, even if I think they're both doing it to tease Phil."  
  
She laughs.  "You're ridiculous, Steve."  
  
He sobers suddenly.  "I don't want to leave anyone behind this time, I can't do that again.  This is a different life and I'm trying it a different way.  Besides, sex is just one of the things that I'm learning about this time, I do other stuff, too."  
  
She pats his thigh.  "I know.  Strippers and vampires and _science_ ," she teases.  
  
Natasha's had several lives already under Steve's definition.  She was raised as a Russian assassin automaton, spent years pretending to be other people for SHIELD and now a quasi-superhero that fought aliens and robots.  She's never considered trying to have a 'normal' life.  She's never had the time, or interest, in it.  
  
But her night with Oliver didn't have ulterior motives and it was irrationally fun.  It wasn't strategic, or officially ordered.  It was a no strings tryst and her own choice.  
  
Being an agent, saving people instead of killing them - it isn't the conventional version of 'fun' but it's been enough for her for a long time.  
  
Sitting on Captain America's couch with his striped toes wriggling in her lap while he scratches his bare belly is surreal enough to clue her in that despite her sins, there might be more for her outside of a leather uniform in the shadows.  
  
"Ugh, I have to go to one of Tony's fancy parties tomorrow," Steve grimaces.  
  
She's invited, too but she rarely RSVPs considering most of his parties include people who still call her Natalia.  
  
"At least I can skip 'pedicure' on Pepper's checklist," Steve says.  "I usually go stag, but do you feel like to putting on a pretty dress and keeping me company?  Or at least keep me away from the snack table?  The caterers are scared of me."  
  
"I usually have to keep Clint from hanging off chandeliers at those kind of functions," she says.  
  
"He's going camping with Johnny and some of the dancers.  He's battling hard for Astrid."  
  
"She's too smart for him," Natasha replies absently.  
  
"No, she likes him too much.  She doesn't date guys without going all-in and while she might not know who we really are, she knows we have dangerous jobs.  She really likes him," Steve adds somberly.  "Love's a lot harder than casual acquaintances that share sleeping quarters.  I'd rather fight Nazis than fall in love again."  
  
"Maybe you just need to do it differently this time," she replies.  
  


* * *

  
"I think the tailor wants you for _science_ ," she whispers when Steve steps out of the fitting room in a different suit.  
  
Steve's eyes flick to the pretty guy scribbling in his tiny notebook by the mirrors.  "Too skinny.  Thor dislocated Jane's hips three times last month," he whispers back.  
  
"He should let her be on top," Natasha replies.  
  
Steve rolls his eyes.  "She **was** on top.  They're coming into town next week so if you've used up all the frilly hair care supplies in your bathroom, we should probably replace them."  
  
Oh.  She's lived with him long enough that she should have considered why he had the spare bathroom stocked with high-end hair supplies when Steve practices such lazy hygiene.  
  
"Does he usually stay in my room?" she asks.  
  
"Nah, he stays at the Tower, but he has this thing about his hair, he says our atmosphere gives him split ends," Steve says absently, tugging at the cuffs on the designer shirt.  "I miss cotton."  
  
The tailor gasps dramatically and hurries over.  
  
She's going to have to think about why she's worried about losing her room when she has an apartment that will be liveable within the next month.  
  
She's settled in too much at Steve's.  
  
"You're thinking too hard, I'll help replace the shampoo," Steve says when the tailor scurries away with his notebook grumbling under his breath.  
  
"It's not that."  
  
"You don't have to go to the party if you don't want to," Steve says, his eyes flashing with concern as he shrugs off the jacket.  
  
"Why aren't you tired of me yet?" she blurts out.  
  
He blinks at her, openly confused.  "Why would I be tired of you?  I like having you around."  
  
He means it and Natasha regrets the outburst.  
  
He rolls his eyes.  "You still have to hang out with me when you get your place back.  I mean, I can actually go to your place," he says.  "You don't have an omniscient computer butler or a smoking hot sister I'm not allowed to talk to."  
  
"Please tell me you hit on Susan Storm," Natasha says.  She would pay money to watch the Invisible Woman deal with her brother's doppelganger trying to pick her up.  
  
"Johnny burned the shit out of my hand before I could even say hello," Steve says.  He glances at her, almost shy.  "You've lived with me long enough to know that I don't like being alone.  You asked me if you could stay at my place and then I dragged you around with me for weeks.  You should be tired of _me_ by now."  
  
They meet each other's eyes.  "We're in a chick flick."  
  
"Do I have to kiss you now?" Steve asks after a beat.  
  
She considers it.  "Ew."  
  
He laughs.  
  
The peppy tailor returns with a new set rack of clothes and promptly unbutton's Steve's shirt before sending him back into the fitting room.  
  
"Why did you unbutton his shirt if you were going to send him away to change?"  
  
"Even if I'm not allowed to touch, I'd be insane if I didn't at least look," the guy replies, fanning himself with his notebook.  
  



End file.
